Always My Valentine
by Pyun
Summary: Ross and Rachel celebrate their first post-finale Valentine's Day together. Chapter 3 now up! Please R&R and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Author: Patrick

Story: Always My Valentine

Disclaimer: The characters are property of Bright, Kaufmann, Crane Productions and Warner Brothers. No infringement is intended.

AN: I'm an idiot. I uploaded an earlier save of the document the first time. This is actually the full Part One.

This story was written for the Valentine's Day FanFic contest on Everlasting Love.

**Part One**

A small chrome teapot whistled loudly on the stovetop, its nozzle wildly ejaculating a plume of white hot steam that dampened the cool black metal of the overhead exhaust hood and announced the culmination of the pot's duties. The cry echoed through the cold, still air, giving a sense of life to the tired apartment for the first time that morning, something that the light of the rising sun had been unable to accomplish when it had penetrated the cracks between window frames and their drawn curtains only a half an hour earlier.

Ross tossed his newspaper on the coffee table and quickly jumped from his spot on the couch, shuffling madly towards the kitchen door to extinguish the disturbance coming from within.

"Damn it," he scolded himself as he pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, his voice shades below a whisper. He frantically lifted the kettle off the hot burner and set it on the cool adjacent one. In seconds the shriek dissipated and was gone. He held the door open for several moments, listening intently for any indications that the din had stirred the other occupants of his apartment. There were none; the placid silence that had suffused all just moments ago had returned. He interrupted it briefly with a long exhalation of breath, realizing for the first time that he had been holding it throughout his entire ordeal. He rubbed his eyes as a sense of bewildered descended upon him. There were mornings when he forgot that he was no longer living on his own. This was one of them.

While the more political approach to the matter would be to say that his concern for awakening others was selfless, he knew fully that it was not entirely so. A half an hour spent with a cup of hot tea, a newspaper, and nothing else had become his sacred morning ritual years ago, one that he did far less frequently these days but was not quite ready to deny himself entirely just because he was sharing an apartment and a bed with the woman he loved. Many days he chose to spend the extra time sleeping or, when she was acquiescent to his advances, making love. Some mornings, when circumstances prompted it, the two would lie together and talk. And then there were times when he'd just watch her sleep for a while, not having the heart to wake her up but wanting to be with her nonetheless. The latter times were the hardest in a way; it was in those silences that the most difficult emotions were articulated— love, despair, lust, and fear— the sporadic waxing and waning of each mirrored in the rise and fall of Rachel's chest with every breath of air her quiescent form took in.

Ross rooted through one of the many drawers in his kitchen searching for the box of teabags, relieved all the while that his little slip had gone unnoticed.

"Purple, purple, purple…_damn_ you multi-pack,"Ross muttered silently as he fingered through the pile of paper packets within the Lipton box. Purple was Blackberry, and that was Rachel's favorite. For that reason, Ross saved them for her, even though she almost never actually drank tea. In fact, out of the bags remaining in the box, there had to be five or six that were purple for every one that was not. Finally locating a green packet, he withdrew his selection from the box, ripped off the paper, dropped it in his mug, and exited the kitchen, cautiously easing the kitchen door shut behind him with his free hand. His first blunder had gone mercifully unnoticed; there wouldn't be a second. He sauntered lazily towards the couch, set his mug on the coffee table, and reached for the folded section of newspaper he'd dropped only minutes ago. It wasn't until his hand was touching the grainy surface of the newspaper that he saw it. Printed in small black letters across the top right-hand side of the publication was the date:

**February 14th, 2005**

_Valentine's Day. How had that not occurred to him yet?_

It wasn't that he had forgotten in general; he had the receipt for the roses he'd picked up the day before to prove it, along with groceries and wine waiting in the kitchen for the dinner he was planning, and a little pink stuffed dinosaur for his other valentine, Emma. Still, Ross was disconcerted by the fact that the subject had not crossed his mind once in the twenty minutes that had passed since he'd rolled out of bed and shuffled into the familiar rhythm of an old routine. He felt like he was underachieving; that if Rachel knew he'd forgotten, she'd think less of him or perhaps doubt how much he cared for her.

Similar feelings of inadequacy had always been a looming specter over Ross's relationships, especially the one he shared with Rachel. He had worked hard on trying to let the little things go, but those little things— a handsome co-worker that was a little too friendly, a phone message from a stranger she'd met at a bar— always seemed to become the biggest problems. This moment was miniscule by comparison; it was one of those self-contained little moments, the kind that, while they're happening, seem to carry enough weight to throw Earth off its axis but always turn out to be inconsequential at the end of the day.

Ross looked at his watch. It was 6:40, which meant that Rachel would likely be asleep for twenty more minutes before the alarm clock would attempt to dictate otherwise. This gave him an idea. He retrieved the phone from its base on the end table and crept towards the front door. He turned the lock millimeters at a time until the bolt was fully withdrawn. Then, with deft movements, he swung the door open a few feet and slithered through the crack, easing the door shut behind him. Once outside the door he smiled, obviously impressed with his execution of the escape. He dialed.

Ross tiptoed back into his apartment and locked the door. He replaced the phone in its cradle and headed towards the bedroom, completely ignoring the simmering cup of tea and the folded up newspaper on the coffee table as he passed them. The door was pushed to; he did not have to endure another round of trying to silently navigate the latch out of the jamb. He slid his fingers through the open crack and gently pushed the door open.

The room was dark; the sun had not risen fully yet and the blinds were still drawn. Nevertheless, Ross could clearly identify the figure at rest on his bed. Rachel had pulled some of the covers that he had vacated earlier around herself, but otherwise appeared to be in an undisturbed sleep. He lowered himself slowly onto the soft comforter until he was lying down completely still next to her sleeping form. The air was cold, but he didn't climb under the covers at first; doing so would've likely caused Rachel to awaken, something he was trying to avoid. In that instant he likened the moment to swimming in a tranquil pond on a hot day: The prospect of immersing one's self in the water is all too inviting and yet the serenity of the landscape commands the highest reverence. At rest, the pond possesses a beauty unique to all but itself; the relief of diving in comes at the tremendous price of disturbing that peaceful tranquility that seems to slow time and make life a little more meaningful during the moments spent taking it in.

Ross studied Rachel's face carefully. Her golden-brown hair was pulled back in a loose bun save a few strands that had managed to wriggle their way loose amidst the tossing and turning of slumber and now wisped over her cheek and brow. Ross felt so mesmerized by her and the strange ability she possessed to capture such a moment without even being consciously aware of it. Her lips were slightly parted and were every bit as soft-looking and inviting as Ross had ever remembered them. It took all the restraint he had not to dive in for a 'good-morning' kiss.

She was absolutely, devastatingly breathtaking. And equally devastating was the irony that, in spite of all the events they'd attended together (or separately for that matter) when she'd put on knockout dresses and spent hours on her makeup trying to look her best, nothing could touch this moment. It was so honest, so perfectly imperfect, and so real.

Rachel squinted in frustration as the clamor from the alarm clock came barging through her ears and into her dreams, awakening her almost instantly. As her eyes adjusted to the shades of morning that were illuminating the bedroom, face came into focus. She nearly jumped at first; it was only recently that she had been sharing a bed with a man on a regular basis again and since this particular man often rose well before her, his presence still startled her on occasions before the comfort of love and years of familiarity returned. He looked barely asleep; his eyes were closed and yet they had a look of freshness and vitality to them. She noted how his right hand was lightly outstretched towards her and that his fingers pointed in her direction as they rested upon the surface of the sheets as if he had been reaching out to her as sleep overtook him.

"_Cute,"_ she thought, before returning her attention to the alarm clock. The last song had come to end and now the station's fanfare was blaring annoyingly over the speaker. She rolled over and, just as she was about to silence the rampant beast of a thing, she felt a stirring behind her, a prelude to Ross's arm draping itself over her side.

"Don't," he pleaded softly. Rachel tensed lightly at first, startled by his unannounced gesture. She looked over her shoulder and was met by Ross's sleepy-but-charming brown eyes. She gazed into them, probing for some sort of understanding. He said nothing, choosing instead to let a confident smile communicate a message of self-assurance for which words were neither necessary nor sufficient. She was about to demand an explanation when the DJ's voice materialized through the static.

"Good morning New York," intoned the boisterous voice. Rachel wondered how someone could sound so energetic at such an early hour. "Hope you're all having a wonderful Valentine's Day morning."

As the DJ heralded the Hallmark holiday over the speaker, Ross's arm tightened around Rachel's smaller frame, pulling her body closer to his. Gentleness and assertiveness mingled in equal proportions in the warmth of his embrace and Rachel, momentarily forgetting her boyfriend's cryptic behavior, allowed herself to melt into it. She rested her hand atop his and stroked the back of his palm with the length of her thumb. The air around her became inundated with Ross's familiar scent and before long her eyes began to grow heavy as it lulled her towards a state of blissful repose. She had nearly drifted off when her boyfriend's voice pulled her back into consciousness. To Rachel's surprise, the voice was not coming from the mouth of the man behind her but rather from the small radio speaker in front of her from which the DJ had been so intrusively bellowing only a moment before.

"I'd like to make a request," Ross's voice shyly announced. While Rachel could've easily chosen to roll over and come face to face with the man behind the surfacing ploy, she decided to remain still, fearing that such an action would detract from the evolution of the moment. A small, more cautious part of her also demanded the extra time to allow her to articulate her reaction verbally before Ross could read it (or misread it) off her face, lest the latter result in another pointless misunderstanding.

"What can we play for you?" asked the DJ, the phoniness in his voice unfaltering. Rachel bit her lip lightly in suspense as she waited for her companion's response to fill the airwaves.

"'She's Got a Way' by Billy Joel," responded a nervous-sounding Ross. For someone who had to speak in front of a classroom of students 5 days out of the week, the professor had a very reserved side to him that could cause him to sound shy at certain times. This was apparently one such instance.

Rachel squeezed his hand gently in hers, signaling her approval of his choice. The song wasn't particularly meaningful to the two as a couple, and both knew it, but it wasn't really a necessary proviso for the gesture to achieve its intended effect. Indeed it seemed that almost every romantic song ever written could be applied to some part of their long (and sometimes sordid) relationship if it was listened to the right way.

"For your Valentine?" queried the DJ, the hokey sentimentality in his voice nearly sucking the meaning out of the word.

"You bet," Ross's voice stated assertively as the opening chords began to vamp underneath his voice. Rachel noted the hint of pride that vividly colored his last statement and smiled. She was ready to roll over and face her man, thankful that she wouldn't have to be faking _any_ smiles this morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Always My Valentine

Author: Patrick

AN: Ok, in case you didn't see, I uploaded the wrong document the first time (I'm an idiot) for part one, so if you haven't checked out the updated version, you should read that first. I also said this would be a two-parter. Unfortunately it hasn't panned out that way, so I guess were looking at three parts. Oh well!

**Part Two  
****  
**The clamor of pots and pans filled the kitchen and poured outward into the living room, accompanied by the smell of fresh cooking. The resident chef looked down at his watch: It was 5:30, which meant he had a full half an hour before his girls were expected home. He snickered proudly as he noted that he was a little ahead of schedule. The fact had no practical worth in the situation but to Ross, the small matter of self-satisfaction was sufficiently pleasing. After giving each pot and pan a quick once-over, he knelt down and opened a cupboard. He surveyed the assemblage of glassware for a moment before selecting an elegant vase. After fifteen minutes of trimming stems and meticulous arranging, the work was one sprig of baby's breath away from being complete.

"There," he said, satisfied that he'd found the perfect spot to intertwine the white flora into his arrangement. Ross studied the fruits of his labor scrupulously for several silent moments, probing relentlessly for any flaws. There were none; the flowers were just the right match for their recipient: Perfect.

He carried his bouquet into the living room and set them down in the middle of the table where she'd be sure to notice them. Roses weren't her favorite flower, he mused, but his romantic heart dictated that there would be no sentiment lost in following the Valentine's Day cliché. And the fact that they were _different_ added a certain bit of explanation to his approach. Ross knew she would have loved a bouquet of lilies just as much (if not more), but he knew that this was the one day to mix it up. He knew that by the time a few years had passed, he'd have bought her enough lilies in his lifetime for the occasions to run together. After all, what stands out more in a garden of white lilies than a red rose?

The gesture was standalone and simple. There could be no candlelight these days; Emma was too mobile and too into testing her limits to risk it. It was worth the sacrifice, however. A quiet family evening at home was all Ross really wanted anyway. Taking a quick and final glance around, Ross confirmed that everything was in order. He shuffled back into the kitchen to make the final dinner preparations. Once that was accomplished, all he could do was wait.

-

Rachel lugged Emma up the stairs of her apartment building, thankful that her daughter had dozed off on the way home. When awake, the little explorer had a thing for climbing the stairs on her own, which wouldn't be so bad if only one ascent was enough to satisfy her young, adventurous spirit. If Emma had it her way, Rachel pondered, there would be no flat ground anywhere. After a few more yards she had reached her door. She stood for a few moments rifling through her pocket for her key. A single key had a way of hiding in Rachel's pocket at times, but she'd learned a few weeks after becoming a mother that making certain keys more easily accessible paid off. She found it after a moment, withdrew it from her pocket, and inserted it in the lock. As the large frame of the door swung open, Rachel's nostrils were immediately filled with the delightful smells of fresh cooking. She couldn't nail down the menu, but was immediately filled with the anticipation of finding out. She started to smile and then froze in her tracks when the door opened fully.

The smells and sounds coming from the kitchen aside, the apartment was still, quiet, and pristine. The apartment was dim; a single desk lamp cast a meager amount of light from its place on the end-table and some light from the city poured in through the window. There was a very welcoming feeling that hung in the air, as if the walls themselves were anticipating her arrival. And on the table, right in the center of it all as if thrust forth from the palm of nature herself, was a bouquet of a dozen, long-stemmed, red roses, in front of which was a small white card. She approached the table, admiring the different dimensions of beauty that came into focus with each step she took. She let her purse slide off her shoulder and down her arm until the strap passed over her hand and the bag dropped on the couch. With Emma still nuzzled against her shoulder, she reached the table and picked up the card. On it, Ross's handwriting read:

_Rachel-_

_Twenty years ago I dreamt of being your Valentine. I never knew anything could be so worth waiting for. Thank you for teaching this man of science that dreams really do come true._

_All my love, always,_

_Ross_

Rachel stood in silence and stared blankly at the words scrawled on the little card for a few moments. Not only did she feel touched by the sentiment of his words, but she found herself in agreement with them. Of course it hadn't been entirely a matter of _waiting_, per se— they fought like hell to make their relationship work at times— but Rachel knew better than to take the expression literally. Before she had time to formulate her reaction, she heard the hinges of the kitchen door as Ross's figure pushed it open. She turned to him, still holding the card, and grinned.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he whispered, noticing that Emma was fast asleep on her mother's shoulder. He leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead, but before his lips could hit their mark, Rachel tilted her head up and forced her lips to his. He moaned slightly in surprise before he melted into it. The kiss was slow, tender, and incredibly sexy. He reveled in the taste and softness of her lips as she got drunk on his irresistible scent. Exerting every last bit of restraint in his body, Ross pulled away.

"I think we should put Emma down first," he suggested breathily, feeling nearly ashamed that his control was slipping away so rapidly. Rachel arched an eyebrow and smiled seductively before sauntering off towards their bedrooms. Once she'd disappeared from sight, Ross darted into the kitchen to extinguish the burners on the stove. If things were going the way he thought, dinner would have to be put on hold.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Always My Valentine

Author: Patrick

AN: Sorry it's been a while on this one. I'd originally posted it intending to enter it in the FB Valentine's Fic contest, but since I didn't finish it on time I let it fall by the wayside for a while. This chapter's kind of short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

**Part Three**

The air in Ross and Rachel's bedroom was inundated with the smell of sweat, sex, and scented candles. Ross laid on his back with a subdued grin plastered between his slightly reddened cheeks. The moisture that had accumulated on his neck and shoulders glimmered seductively as the soft flicker of the candlelight danced reflectively across it. Rachel lay next to him with an arm draped across his chest and her finger twirled and teased thereabouts, exploring every inch of the nicely toned expanse of his pectoral region. Moving southward, one of her legs was slung over top of his, the two appendages melting into one satisfied form in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Her head was nuzzled against his shoulder, whereupon she would occasionally place a loving and rewarding peck that Ross knew to be a sign that he'd pleased her thoroughly.

"Mmmm," Rachel sexily purred as she gushed her weight into his side. "Happy Valentine's Day." Ross chuckled bashfully at her cuteness, raising a hand to gently stroke her golden brown hair.

"Yeah," he agreed, leaning down and kissing the top of her head gently, enjoying the salty-but-sweet taste that flourished there along with the intoxicating aroma of shampoo and conditioner seasoned to desirable perfection with Rachel's cresting perspiration. The fulfilled pair lay still for a while leaving the room in anticipatory silence, save the gentle whir of a box fan in the corner. The appliance's typical function was well out-of-season, but Ross and Rachel used its sound to add a degree of privacy and protection to their lovemaking when Emma was asleep in the next room. Parenthood had made romantic music and uninhibited cries of passion a thing of the past, save days when Emma was being watched by her grandparents, during which times the releases were so volcanically explosive that the couple were surprised no one had threatened eviction afterwards.

"I love you," offered Ross, his voice hushed and low. Rachel didn't respond verbally or in any overtly physical manner at first, but Ross felt the subtle tightening of her cheek muscles as her mouth formed a grin and knew that she felt the same little butterflies in her stomach that were fluttering rampantly in his. It was amazing that, even after they had shared the most intimate of experiences and lay naked together in the wake of it, the ostensibly simple admission had the power to make both feel suddenly vulnerable; that over the last decade, those three words had been the seemingly capricious fulcrum upon which their lives were balanced and subsequently unbalanced and so forth.

"I know," she finally returned, her tone flat but sincere. Ross contemplated her response wordlessly for a few moments before deciding not to worry about it. It wasn't the colloquial response he'd been hoping for, but he recognized that he and Rachel were hardly the typical couple. The idiomatic "I love you too" would've been too easy, simply put, and if there was one thing their relationship was not, it was easy.

"So did you happen to work up an appetite?" Ross wittily queried as he rose to a sitting position and reached for a t-shirt that was slung over the nightstand. Rachel pulled the sheet close around her body, trying to capture the heat that his movement had allowed to escape. She watched his muscles work as he squeezed his torso into the garment they'd so haphazardly discarded nearly an hour before and debated over his question. Even though he probably hadn't intended it, his question was a double entendre, one she couldn't possibly ignore when he rose from the bed and sauntered half-naked towards the spot in the corner of the room where his boxers had ended up.

"You bet," she replied, deciding to feed her stomach before satiating any other desires. After all, their night together was still young. The food, on the other hand, was getting older by the minute.

"Ross?" she beckoned. Ross had donned a pair of black warm-up pants from his dresser and was heading for the bedroom door when her voice caused him to stop short.

"Huh?" he answered, turning to meet her gaze. His face was expressionless, save the subtle tensions of anticipation and the faintly perceptible glimmer of utter contentment in his eyes.

"I love you too, you know," she grinned, satisfied that she'd kept him waiting for the words long enough. Ross smiled and looked on at Rachel in total adoration for a few moments and wondered how he could've possibly been stupid enough to let their relationship fall apart that first time, seven years previous. He wondered if Rachel had sensed his fleeting concern when she hadn't said the words back to him only minutes earlier and smiled even wider, realizing with the strength of maturity and security accumulated over nearly a decade that she didn't really even need to say it then.

"I know," he warmly asserted, the mimicry of Rachel's earlier response totally unintentional. Finally, after years of falling short trying to convince himself that she loved him, he really _did_ know this time.


End file.
